I write for my own pleasure, and the subjects of the stories I write arouse me. They don't hit the button of arousal for every reader, but if this flips your switch, thereby elongating or moisturizing the target anatomy, I would love to hear from you. What's good and what's bad? Thanks.
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My Mom always said there was a purpose for everything and that things usually turned out about the way they were supposed to. God rest her soul, I finally believe her. The circumstances that just recently convinced me are the exact same ones that probably would have led her to question her own words of wisdom. If she's up there somewhere watching, she's shaking her head, but I think she's also got a little smile. Moms always want the best for their kids, and I have it. I'm like a kid again in the "autumn chicken" stage of my life, but it's not because I met a match who is also well past her prime. Exactly the opposite. I met a match just entering her prime—a "spring chicken"—and it feels like a miracle. All those clichés about answered prayers and mysterious ways have, incredibly—especially if you know my opinion on religion—moved into the realm of possibility.
Let's retreat. About five years ago I was issued my second divorce decree. Yup, I was a two-time loser in the game of love, and at fifty one it didn't take much to convince me that I was finished playing in that game. I just never grew away from the Playboy bunny ideal as my sex partner, and there are no fifty-year-old centerfolds. Hell, there aren't any forty year olds either and there are very few in their thirties I'd care to fuck. Hugh Hefner and I don't differ in outlook, just results. He fucks the bunnies. I don't. Or at least I didn't.
This admitted irrationality on my part was the main problem with both my marriages. My first wife was beautiful, and many of my old friends thought I was nuts for divorcing her. Then I met my second wife and she was just as beautiful as my first, but she was eleven years younger. Shit, both of them fought a damned good fight against nature, and many men would say they won—especially my second wife. She worked out daily. She got tucked, enhanced, smoothed, and tightened twice in the thirteen years we were together. It's a shame, but you can't make a 37-year-old body into a 20-year-old body, and a twenty-year-old body was what I wanted. If I couldn't have it, I would sit at home, remember when I did, and dream of having it while I beat off.
I understood how unreasonable I was being. I was being totally selfish, and I didn't expect anything less from a woman. Shit, I couldn't imagine any twenty-year-old, male or female, being attracted to a fifty-year-old. It's not nature's way. That's why I was resigned to grow old alone. What beautiful young thing could have any interest in an old fart like me? Especially any sexual interest.
I'm a Professor of Physics at a decent sized public university in the Dallas-Ft.Worth Metroplex. There is an old saw about it only being work if you would rather be doing something else, and it definitely applies to me. I love what I do, and the only thing I would rather be doing is primal and sensory—I like to taste, to smell, to hear, to see, and to feel the best food, perfume, music, and beauty there is to find. The only thing I know that satisfies fully every one of my senses is a gorgeous young lady.
Because I work at a college, I see twenty-year-old bodies everyday. Maybe that's the problem. I have never and would never approach a young college girl with any sexual intent, but like the old song says: "You can't go to jail for what you're thinking, nor for that cool gleam in your eye." So I look, lust, and dream daily. In case you don't realize it, many of your college-aged daughters like to tease, so it is hard not to look and the lusting and dreaming just follow naturally. I am constantly amazed at how many of them tease me. I believe it is the act of teasing that is enjoyable for them, and whom they tease is not all that important. How else could you explain so many intentional panty shots directed at me?
So now you know my mindset when, in spring semester, 1998, Gina first entered my classroom. She sat in the front row every class period, and by god she was distracting. While class was going on, I was the only one in the room with a premium view up her skirt. In the beginning, I thought she was acting out a dare, or perhaps paying off a bet or undergoing some sort of initiation hazing, but I was willing to go along with it for as long as it took to "complete her assignment."
I knew she was enjoying my torment because the sights kept getting better and better. As the weather got warmer, her attire continued to shrink and she became even more flagrant. It finally sunk in to my pea brain that she was just acting on her own for her own pleasure, and that revelation was strikingly powerful to my psyche. Perhaps Gina saw that remnant in me that induced beautiful girls to give it up to me when I was young.
I know she never missed a class because I would have been so disappointed if she had. She is a great student. Intelligent, organized, industrious. She always stayed after class to ask perceptive questions that indicated a surprisingly deep understanding, and in a sophomore level classical mechanics class that alone was enough to make me interested in her. She started calling me Doc, and I let her know—without saying anything—that I approved. It still isn't appropriate for undergraduate students to call their instructors by their first names, but Doc is a hell of a lot less formal than Professor Simmons or Doctor Simmons.
Her questions were invariably insightful, but the main reason she stayed was to tease me even further. What sweet torture! She is only 5'4" or 5'5" and maybe 110 pounds. Her waist is incredibly thin, her ass incredibly round, and her whole body incredibly beautiful. It quickly became her habit to lean with her elbows on the room=width demonstration counter while I stood on the blackboard side looking at her tits. If she owned a bra I had no evidence of it, and her tops were always loose enough to fall away completely. Absolutely perfect tits. Centerfold material.
For about the first month of class, she was the last one to ask her questions so I was given an individualized, prolonged showing of her body. I never said anything, but I sure didn't hide my focus on her tits. She giggled and jiggled as I talked and gawked, and it was easy to see she liked it by the way her nipples engorged. She never hid her focus on my stiffened cock, either, and the twinkle in her eyes was merriment's trademark. We laughed a lot while talking about my second favorite subject, the one I taught, and I found out she was a physics major. Sex and physics combined in one gorgeous young lady—I couldn't have dreamed so high. She provided mental stimulation on a high intellectual level as well as acute audio and visual excitement at a primal level.
About a month into the term, I finally asked her if she would like some coffee. It began by us going to the student union, but evolved into coffee in my office. Since it was the last class of the day for both of us, her visits got longer and longer and my private showings became more prolonged, more tantalizing, and consequently for me, more tortuous. I never said anything sexual, and neither did she, but there was an incredible aura of sex that permeated my office whenever she was in it. Her nipples and my cock were at attention most of the time she was there, and it didn't take me long to satisfy myself after she left.
It was about the same time that we started going to coffee that some of the guys in class noticed that there was a good reason to stay after I dismissed class. The way she leaned on the counter was so revealing that several male students soon realized my side of the counter provided a great view, and they joined me to inspect her tits. Those who stayed on the other side of the counter were not disappointed either, because when she leaned over, her incredibly short skirts provided a view of her panties from a different angle than the one I had all through the lecture. I knew most of them had never been with a woman just because of the type of students drawn into physics, and I suspected Gina knew as well.
By the last month of class, it was just Gina and I and about fifteen regulars staying after class, and I found it was even more thrilling to know she was going to display herself for all of us than it was when it was just for me. Physics majors are not socially adept, so her bi-weekly showings had to be the fantasy material for probably a hundred or so masturbation induced orgasms per week from the physics guys. I know they set me off at least four or five times a week, and I'm old. Gina provided subtle verbal clues that she enjoyed it more when she had a larger audience, and I guessed her showings provided the fantasy material for her own masturbation also.
Gina was never in a hurry to end being the center of attention after class, and she teased, flirted, giggled, posed, jiggled, blushed, smiled, winked, batted and flashed more each week. They all adored her, and as long as she was in my classroom I knew attendance was not going to be a problem. Nobody slept during class either, and it definitely enhanced my stature in the eyes of all these young inexperienced guys to see her openly flirt with me. I dropped my own verbal clues when we were having coffee that I liked her displays more when all the young guys were there, but my hints were probably redundant. I'm sure she knew from my eyes.
